Stallions
by Harmonic Friction
Summary: Tom Riddle is nine, almost ten. He's not made of cold, hard metal. Contrary to popular belief, he likes being touched.


_Stallions_

December 14, 1937

My birthday is coming soon. I shall be ten years old, _finally_ ten years old. Rid forever of the measly one digit ages. Perhaps answering the ancient question _How old are you, little boy? _with a dour _I am ten _will demand some well-deserved respect. Because, age _does _present some problems at open house nights here at the orphanage. People do not want _I am ten, _they want _I am a fat little infant who will spit upon your jacket. _They want a sweet little toddler to bounce on their knee. So, let us hope that becoming ten will give me even less of a chance to be adopted by some middle aged, tentative couple with big smiles and clammy fingers.

I am certainly no sweet little toddler. My smile, when I feel the need to smile, is like something plastered on a puppet. If I were you, I would not take my smiling seriously. Those cold handed couples who like to hug seem to be repelled by my smile. They ask me questions, always the same questions. Like _What do you like to play with? _And I think to myself, **do they _really _want to hear the answer to that question**? Usually, I tell these people that I adore the sea side and stallions, because how many people in this stark little town are wealthy enough to live by the sea and own a horse? Besides, every child wishes for a pony. Saying _stallion _throws them off.

Some fat man in a white coat with pig eyes stared at me today. This happens quite frequently, although the mistress pretends that it never does. I believe I was in trouble. I can only begin to guess why. It may have had something to do with me making the photographs in the hallway move slowly side to side, but I do not believe anyone witnessed that. So it must have been about what I did last night.

I was bored, and this bloke Ian Michael who comes to help out at the orphanage was in the room. Ian, or Mister Michael, as I am meant to address him, was tucking in the little children. For a strange second, I imagined Mister Michael pausing in front of Johnny Yorks, a stupidly adorable five year old with a teddy. Pausing in front of him and perhaps running his long fingers through the boy's hair. This thought rocked me so much that I nearly fell out of the bunk.

Ian Michael is good- looking, even if it's only because he is under forty and is not severely overweight. I thought I just might like to _be _Johnny Yorks if that situation were to happen, and I decided that it _would._

This made me wish I was stupidly adorable, for no one hugs _Tom Riddle _goodnight. Everyone seems to think _Tom Riddle _is made of hard, cold metal, and that to touch him would invoke a terrible shudder. Well, perhaps it is so, but I _did not care. _

"Mister Michael," I called out sweetly, which was a _very bad _thing to do, as little orphans are supposed to be quiet come nightfall. It's like a medieval trading agency—if you weren't sold today, consider yourself a horrible, smelly person. And wallow in your misery.

_But—_in the voice of Mistress now-- _do it quietly, please. _

Ian Michael paused and then his lip curled a little like a Greek statue. "Yes, Thomas?"

_He's scared, _I thought.

"You forgot me," I said selfishly, but just sadly enough to make the silly teenaged boy feel a little bit sorry for me.

"Oh, Thomas," he spoke quietly, and strode to my bedside. "You know, you _will _be adopted. Someone will want you. I'm certain of it!"

_This coming from a well-adjusted, healthy boy with a mummy and daddy, _thought I, in amusement.

I bit my lip. For some reason, it makes one look young and foolish. "You want me?" I questioned.

"Er—eh?"

"Would _you _want me?" I questioned, attempting to hide my sneer at the boy's obvious flustered reaction.

"Tom! You mustn't speak that way, you were told—"

"What way? I think that I would _love _to have an older brother just like you!" I declared.

"Oh! Heh," he smiled, relieved. "Well, then. That would be fine! Just fine."

"Especially if sometimes, you would _touch _me," I added nonchalantly, and nearly buckled over with delight at the paleness of his face.

"Thomas Riddle, you were _told _not to speak like that!" he cried out. Such a strong specimen outwitted and perplexed by an orphan of _nine, almost ten. _He left the room in a flourish, no doubt unable to stop his mind from imagining just what I had said. Had I ruined his life? _I certainly hoped so._

From now on, I shall tell prospective adopted parents that I fancy a house by the seaside, stallions, _and _pedophilic elder brothers.

**fin**


End file.
